Along the Banks of the Yodo

(:title Along the Banks of the Yodo:)

Installment 1 : From Demachiyanagi…

…!

身をすつる 人は誠に すつるかは 捨てぬ人こそ すつる也けれ
Mi wo sutsuru / hito wa makoto ni / sutsuru ka wa / sutenu hito koso / sutsuru narikere
He who casts himself away— / has he truly / cast himself away? / The real castaway is one / who casts nothing away at all! http://deadhobosociety.com/haiku/viewHaiku.php?TextId=113

Along the Banks of the Yodo

~#courierstory~~ “You’ve gotta listen to me Kei-tchan! If we don’t find that ninja hive, it’s the end! Not just for you and me and Keihan line, but for everyone! Free people everywhere!”

She looked at his grizzled hobo face, and suddenly wondered if it could really be true that their first meeting had only been a few days before. It seemed as though her life had changed so much already. Okeihan’s world had been turned upside down.

¶

The week before, Keiko, a high school senior from the town of Yodo, emerged from Demachiyangi’s underground station. The sun shone brightly in the early October air. She crossed over the bridge, stopping to look out at the mountains in the near distance. The weeping willows along the riverbank swayed in the breezes, the green trees complementing the blue sky and blue-green mountains. It was a Saturday afternoon, and she had already finished class and set out in her white and navy blue uniform. The heels of her black loafers were bent down from years of abuse. Her socks hugged her calves. A beautiful day for a picnic.

“Ojama-shimasu,” she thought as she walked through the makeshift living spaces that the homeless of Japan had erected under this and every bridge in Kyôto. She drapped a blanket over the grass and took out the bentô she packed herself. River water tumbled around the concrete blocks in the current, the sound drown out by the noise of the city surrounding it.

“Itadakimasu!”

Her can of “Drink It Black” coffee was still slightly warm to the touch. As she poised her chopsticks over a tempting ball of nigiri, she was interrupted.

“Anô—”

And that was the first thing he said to her, “[Um.]”

“Yes?”

“[Huh? You speak English?]”

“Sukoshi-dake…” she said, indicating how little with her pinkie finger.

“Ettô,” she continued, “[You seem to speak Japanese.]”

“[Yep, the name’s Gendo Summers, pleased to make your acquaintance.]”

“Pleased to meet you.”

“So, would you mind sharing a rice ball and telling me the way to Nintendo Headquarters?”

“Okeihan!” she exclaimed, giggling.

“I beg your pardon?”

“That’s the train line, the Keihan line. And also my name, YODOYA Keiko.”

“I see. Pleased to meet you Ms. Yodoya.”

“Keiko ittemo ii. But, let’s walk to the station and I’ll explain how that works.”

¶

Keiko was a train addict pure and simple. She couldn’t help but talk to Gendo about all the tricks of the line, the stops and times and the changes. She explained how the express trained worked, and why it only stops at Yodo on the weekends. She explained about K-cards and JR and the Hiei-zan line. And he listened. And he listened, and listened, and liked it. She was charming. He was completely sucked in. It was suki, complete and unfettered “But [like] can’t distract me,” he thought. “My mission here is too important for that.”

¶

“I like the hat.”

“Thanks, it’s a bowler I got from a friend.”

“But why are you wearing it?”

“Well, it is Friday.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You know, I’m a member of the F.S.W.C.O.G.O.A.J.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Go on and ask.”

“What’s F.S.W.C.O.G.O.A.J.?”

“The Friday Suit Wearing Committee of Greater Ôsaka and Japan.”

“Aa. So, hat comes with the suit. But what business does the F.S.W.C.O.G.O.A.J. have visiting Nintendo?”

“Well, it is Friday, isn’t it?”

“[To be honest,] it’s Saturday.”

“[What!] My watch must still be set to American time. [Unbelievable.] Shimatta.”

“It’s kind of funny, leave it. Just make sure to remember the difference when you want to catch a train.”

“We really are a day in the future. But this puts me a day out of date, too.”

“I’m sorry. I hate to bring bad news.”

“Nah, ‘s cool. I would have found out eventually.”

“[Now what?]”

“Good question. They won’t let me in without an appointment hazu deskedo… And my Japanese is too [poor] to explain that I missed it because of time zones… But maybe if I had an interpreter…”

“I don’t mind.”

“I don’t want to impose. I’ve already used a lot of your time.”

“Oh no, it could be fun. I’ve wanted to go to Nintendo sometime. I like Mario [64].”

“Cool, thanks!”

¶

“[Welcome.]”

Everyone bowed.

“[Pleased to meet you.]”

He extended a card, bought specifically for this circumstance. The man they came to meet studied the card for a second before putting it away and offering a card of his own.

“[Likewise… Please, sit.]”

Gendo sat next to Keiko across from his contact at Nintendo, MIYAMOTO Shigeru. Mr. Miyamoto looked out the window briefly before sitting. Gendo had noticed Miyamoto’s eyes reflected in the glass and thought they seemed full of something, perhaps sorrow.

“[I take it then, you are here about the ninja problem.]”

“[Yes, sir.]”

Keiko’s eyebrows shot up. She glanced at Gendo in disbelief, but he continued to make eye contact with Mr. Miyamoto.

“[Yes, the ninjas have been very problematic lately. There have been numerous incidents lately. Of course, nothing concrete can be tied to them. But that is always the nature of the ninja. Installations have been compromised, data has been stolen, and prototypes destroyed. This situation is becoming dangerous.]”

“[Yes, so it is.]”

“[It is for this reason that it became necessary to contact your organization for assistance. In my previous dealings with your association, I have always been pleased by the outcome. Further, I don’t believe that any local groups would be able to move without constant surveillance by ninja operatives. It is a necessity that this situation is dealt with in the quietest manner possible, lest it spill out of control and into the streets of the Kyôto-Ôsaka-Kobé area. The possible consequences are horrific.]”

“[I understand.]”

“[Unfortunately, our intelligence has no information at this time regarding the whereabouts of the ninja base of operations. All that I can tell you with certainty is that a ship load of pirates are expected in Kobé next weekend. If experience is any guide, ninjas can be expected to confront them. I suggest you begin your investigation there. My assistant will give you some equipment to aid you on your quest, if you’ll follow him.]”

“[Hmm…]”

Leaving the building later, Gendo turns to Keiko, “Ok, in English, what did he say about the ninjas? I swear, I totally heard him say something like that.”

¶

After that meeting, their world became riding the trains back and forth, searching signs of the ninjas, and talking. After class, Keiko would happen to wander into him in downtown Kyôto, and they would start chatting. This schedule of planned accidental meetings was, of course, a mutually contrived deception. The pirates weren’t expected until the following weekend, and there were no other solid leads, so they mostly just hung out on the train and talked. Keiko was curious at first about this business with ninjas, but Gendo explained it away as code phrase for a business project he was involved in. His story didn’t add up, but neither did the alternative. In the end, the truth was hidden in plain sight, and Keiko left it at that. There were more interesting things to wonder about. They talked about their lives, their hopes, old jokes, old wounds. Gendo had no other friends in Japan, and Keiko… Sometimes Keiko felt the same way.

¶

“I was born here in Ôsaka, but when I was five, my dad took a job in Lebanon, Ohio. I picked up English fairly quickly, but I didn’t really fit in at school. The only Asian in my class, I mostly just played by myself. The teachers tried to get me more involved, but I was never really… I just always felt like an outsider. I would go home and look in the mirror and wonder about my ‘ugly face.’ We moved back when I was ten, and for a while, I really thought that it would finally let me be normal, that this was my big break, and then I could go and become ‘cool’ and… I’m not sure what. But, my Japanese was still very immature, and I had a lot of trouble reading. The other kids started making fun of me for being ‘slow’ and that was the end of my dream of fitting in. The other girls would tease me mercilessly, calling me gaijin, excluding me from their games, bullying me. Now, it seemed worse, and the teachers did nothing to stop them, like they did in America. I think the teachers were somewhat jealous of my English… In those days, I would cry myself to sleep almost every night. By the time I entered middle school, I was skipping class regularly. I would just stay on the train even after it came to my stop. I remember very distinctly just watching mutely as announcement came on and the doors opened and closed with all the other kids streaming past. I was so… I just couldn’t force myself to get off the train and spend another day in misery, so I’d just stare out the window as the train went back from Kyôto to Ôsaka, over and over. And somehow, that started to comfort me. Even on the days I went to school, I would just sit and think about the rivers and mountains and rice paddies. The sound of the train on tracks and the announcements. The way the seasons outside the window slowly cycled from one to another. Everything. I barely passed the high school entrance exams, probably just because of my English scores. Since then though, things have gotten better. They give us so much work that no one has time to bully me, and I’ve started making some friends. I’m not as depressed as before. Once the guys grew up and started looking at girls, they all tried to ask me out, but I know these are the same boys who would have made fun of me a few years before. They just want a cute girlfriend, so I ignore them. I can still get depressed every now and then, but usually I take a short trip and feel a little better.”

¶

Gendo knew that finding pirates in Kobé was no kind of mission to take your high school friend along on. But she knew about the trip, and he couldn’t uninvite Keiko without bringing up more questions (or at least he used that rationalization). And also, he knew, it would mean bringing her deeper in, making her more complicit in his project, making her closer to the danger and thus to him. It was terrible and wrong to take a chance like that with someone else, a girl not even out of high school, and Gendo knew it, but he just couldn’t bring himself to push her away.

“This doesn’t make any sense. I need to grow up and move on. Just tell her to go without me next weekend or something.”

“Hey, do you want a niku-man?” she interrupted his inner-monologue.

“[I’m fine, thanks.]”

Yes, he was totally entranced.

¶

“[It figures. Yesterday, I cleaned my room and hung the laundry. Of course it’s raining.] You know, it wasn’t raining before the train went underground on my way here, and…”

A gray autumn rain dripped off the eaves of the Bon Bon Cafe. Outside, the currents of the Kamo River broke lazily along the concrete blocks and turtles. Gendo nibbled at his sandwich as Keiko lifted her coffeecup with both hands.

“Né? [Are you Ok? You seem quiet…]”

“[Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.]”

He put the food back on his plate and hesitantly began.

“You know how we played [paper, rock, scissors] on the train the other day?”

“Yeah, you picked rock.”

He remained serious, but she perked up remembering it.

“[Of course.] Since, to my mind, nothing beats rock. Rock trained for thousands of years, as long as there have been rocks or hills or mountains. Rock trained itself to destroy just one enemy.”

He grew animated.

“Rock knew that scissors was its deadliest opponent. Scissors are sharp; they’re made of metal; they cut paper. Deadly. For that reason, it was relentless in training for every possibility. If scissors attacks from below, rock falls and crushes it.”

He gesticulated wildly, still without smiling.

“Scissors attacks from on top, but rock stays hard— breaking it into bits. Scissors attacks from the side, but rock doesn’t move, bending the scissors into pieces. The scissors clamp down on rock, only to come apart at the hinge.”

He stopped to take a bite of his sandwich. Keiko giggled.

“Rock has every contingency planned for against scissors, undoubtedly the most dangerous of its many enemies.”

He shifted in his seat. The rain continued to patter inaudibly on the concrete outside.

“Sometimes, I feel like my whole life, I’ve been training myself, just like that rock. I can handle anything that happens, with my years of experience. Or, well, anything so long as it happens in a certain way.

“Everyday, I see you, and we take a train. I’m prepared; I have days of experience. I’m getting into my language groove. I’m learning my way around. I’m confident. I can handle anything, us going anywhere— Kyôbashi, Hirakata, Sanjo— anywhere! Well, just so long as it isn’t paper, you know?”

Her lips curled in a smile.

“Don’t worry. Today, we will have only scissors and rock, Ok?”

“Ok.”

And he knew they would be fine for today. But still, in his heart, he worried about going to Kobé tomorrow. Clearing his mood, he said, “So, show me those magazine’s you brought!”

¶

The last thing he could remember was Keiko telling him that they couldn’t go to Kobé without doing this first.

Gendo looked around.

“My life is completely, one hundred percent, insane.”

A heavyset Japanese man with a beard and mustache was saying something in thick Kansai-dialect. His wife nodded in approval and contributed an utterly incomprehensible question. Based on the silence that followed it, the question was apparently for Gendo. The man looked at his wife with a look of dissatisfaction, and the two began to squabble. Slowly, his Japanese ability began to collect itself, and Gendo caught fragments of their chatter. He looked imploringly at Keiko, on the other side of the room.

“So, this is why I studied Japanese?” he thought.

Keiko pleaded his case to her parents.

“[No, if you speak carefully and slowly, he gets it.]”

Her father sized up the situation.

“[It’s Ok.]” he said to Keiko, then turned to Gendo.

“Oui speek Engurish!” he blurted out, to Gendo’s eternal shame. Gendo’s hand covered his mouth reflexively.

“Um, Ok?”

“Uh hah,” said Keiko’s father with too much gusto.

“Keiko,” Gendo was dying.

“Ies, Mista Summaz!” Mr. Yodoya replied out of turn.

“Tell your Dad, maybe we should stick to Japanese.”

“[Yeah, Pops, maybe we should stick to Japanese?]”

“[Well, fine. Japanese it is.]”

He eyed Gendo.

“[So, you want to go to Kobé with Keiko?]”

“[If you don’t mind…]”

“[It’s a date, isn’t it!?]”

“[Pops!]” Keiko interjected.

“[Ah, but Kobé is a great town: The Luminary, Chinatown, the bay… But, say, how are you planning on getting there?]”

“[Um.]” He didn’t give Gendo time enough to understand or respond.

“[You should take the Keihan line! You know the Keihan line has a great station at Kyôbashi, and you can transfer to the JR loop line from there.]”

“[Er, yeah.]”

“[You weren’t planning on taking Hankyu, were you!?]”

“[N-no sir.]”

Keiko, “[I’m sorry, but we really are a Keihan family.]”

“[Of course…]”

“[Just remember to get on the train back by 10:30, or you’ll be stuck at the train station— Japan is a nation that sleeps at night!]”

“[Yes sir.]”

“[Now, before you go, how about some lunch? Kyôko, Miyako, why don’t you and Keiko fix something up while we talk?]”

After the women had suitably occupied themselves, Gendo tried to talk to Mr. Yodoya.

“[So, Mr. Yodoya…]”

“[Please! Call me ‘Pops.’]”

“[Yes, Pops. So, what was it that brought you to Ohio?]”

The question was of more than academic interest to Gendo.

“[Well, it’s a long story. Though I am a man of the Ôsaka area, in my life, I have lived in many places around the world. I was driven by my job, of course. You have heard, no doubt, about the harsh schedule of the Japanese Salaryman, no doubt. I, in particular, have been made to live a life of constant travel. In fact, it was at Carnival in Brazil that I happened to meet my wife Kyôko, another displaced person of Ôsaka.]”

He looked over at his wife and daughters in the next room.

“[Yes, I regret the time I was forced to spend away from my family. For too long, I neglected them in a bout of gambarism toward my job. I was like a worker bee, driving myself into dust. However, since my return from America, my superiors have seen fit to give me more time with my family. This small joy is what keeps me alive from day to day: Seeing my daughters grow in health and beauty. I can tell that you too are fond of Keiko, and it is for that reason that I trust you to look after her in Kobé,]” hearing this, Gendo grew flush, “[and treat her with utmost kindness…]”

“[Yes, of course Mr. Yodoya.]”

“[Please! Call me ‘Pops.’]”

After a short lunch, Keiko and Gendo began to depart, with much bowing and many customary salutations. Pops called out them as they opened fence.

“[Just remember Keiko, men are wolves!]”

He proceeded to howl. Gendo looked around.

“My life is completely, one hundred percent, insane.”

¶

Walking back to the train station, they crossed the Katsura River.

“Hey, let’s wait a little bit. The express train won’t be in for a few minutes.”

They sat on pink and blue swings in a park formed by the remaining walls of Yodo castle. A few leaves were already scattered along the ground by the still young autumn winds. The park, like the castle itself, was a victim of glorious decay. Paint chipped off the edges of the swing-set, revealing the rusting metal underneath. The bare earth around them was gray-brown, and cats could be seen romping leisurely across the way. A metal fence blocked off the central keep of the castle, its lock rusting like everything else. A few teenagers sat with a look of boredom on the steps in the center of the area, and young couple engaged in unknown activities on the gazebo behind the trees. The lilies in the remainder of the moat had withered into a mass of weeds. The place was infused with a kind of wonderful sadness, the terrible beauty of sorry, loneliness, and longing. Behind one of the stone memorials, someone had spray painted, “I love you,” in Japanese and English.

“Look, I’m sorry if my parents gave you a hard time.”

“No, it’s all right. That [Pops] is something, huh?”

“He means well.”

“I like him. He seems like a nice guy.”

Keiko looked at her black loafers and rocked forward slightly.

“I get the feeling like you don’t want me around sometimes.”

“No, no, no. Just the opposite. That’s just the problem sometimes.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s hard for me to say. I don’t know how I feel; I’m all mixed up inside. Listen, just promise me, whatever happens…” he trailed off.

In the near distance, they could hear the chiming of the crossing guards.

“Come on, we’ll miss our train!”

¶

Dead tired after a day of sight-seeing and shopping in Kobé, Gendo slouched at the bar. The mama-san looked down at him with a half-smile.

“[You want something?]”

Before he could respond, a drunken pirate interrupted.

“Thisu izu Japonnizu sakeh! Yuu dorinku dis! Yuu ahh fram Ame-rika!?”

Moments before with a loud cry of “[I’m home!]” this lead pirate and his motley crew of buccaneers burst through the door, already pungent with the stink of a bottle of cheap two X rum.

“[Um, well, I…]”

Keiko arched her eyebrow in a way with which he was becoming more familiar as time went on.

“Yuu ahh gaalfurend!?” interjected the pirate bawdily, brandishing his pinkie in the air.

Gendo reflexively covered his mouth in embarrassment. The other pirates yarr-ed in amusement.

“[Maybe it’s time to go home…]”

“I’m sorry Kei-tchan! [For serious!]”

“[No, it’s ok.] … Saa, warahenwa kore!”

“Gomen! Gomen!”

“This izu… Yuu laik this!”

“Why are we even here!?”

“I’m waiting for someone, but this could take a while…”

“Dorink, dorink!”

“[Um, I have an allergy…]”

Time.

¶

The Mama-san had faithfully gathered a growing collection of empty cans of Chûhai in the trash can under the bar.

“Uait. Wan moa taim.”

“[He’s from America, but his parents are from Japan.]”

“No. I no andastand. Wan moa.”

Growing weary of the slurred and sloshed speech of the pirates, Gendo stepped out for a short yo-yo break. Lazily walking the dog and the rocking the cradle, something caught his eye, or rather failed to catch. It was the shadows. They were too dark. He hurried into the bar.

“Keiko, you have to get out now!”

Baffled, she slowly stood, but the time for easy escapes had already passed. The paper windows of the bar exploded in from all sides.

“My blade is known to men as ‘The Hunan Express,’ though few have lived to speak of it.”

Clad in black, katana at his shoulders, the head ninja spoke as his henchmen glared at the quivering, drunken pirates. It was the pirates that they had come to terrorize.

A single chopstick slid out of the hand of one of the terror struck pirates.

Things moved quickly.

The ninjas began slashing furiously from all sides. Keiko stood in the center, wearing a white blouse and blue patterned skirt. Her hair was combed straight over her ears and bobbing up at the shoulders. She had small gold earrings in each ear. Her shoes came to a tight point at the toe and the heels were medium height and width. She bought them in a shop today while Gendo waited bemusedly outside.

As the pirates struggled futilely, Gendo dove in toward Keiko. His ragged mustard yellow wool coat was unbuttoned at the waist. His brown corduroys were thread bare and patched in places. Out of his stuff pockets, he produced a single brown iron railroad spike.

The Mama-san hadn’t wasted her time sitting behind the bar. Guns are restricted in Japan, but no bar owner can afford to be without a baseball bat. Two lesser ninjas had fallen already, their teeth scattered on the floor.

Grabbing Keiko by the wrist, Gendo heaved at the exit. In his opposite hand, the spike was wedged between index and middle fingers. The head of the nail lay flat in his clenched palm, the tip extending out about six inches.

He arced his arm around knocking a ninja out of the way the door. Breaking through, he told Keiko to run away, shoving in her out onto the sidewalk. Soon enough, a pair of ninja bolted toward the door, which Gendo guarded fiercely.

He first deflected their onrushing swords with the cold iron of his railroad spike, then turned quickly, raising his left foot for a tornado kick. The kick dislodged the blades from the grasps of the two ninja. As their swords clattered to the ground, each extended a karate chop toward Gendo. Dodging swiftly, he distracted them with a thrust of the spike before landing a blow to the neck of the first, downing him. The second dropped down with a sweeping kick, but Gendo jumped up, delivering a direct smash to the ninja’s face with the loose toe of his boot.

The Mama-san had decimated more than her share of ninja, but now two locked her arms from behind. The bloody bodies of the remaining pirates trembled in the corner as the head ninja laughed at them.

Not wanting to leave the doorway, Gendo hesitated but seeing no other way, he charged forward with a flying kick to a ninja holding the bar madame. The other loosened his grip slightly in fear, allowing the Mama-san to break free of his grasp. Gendo turned to head ninja, who had already shifted his attention from the fear filled pirates.

“Heh,” the ninja laughed a strange laugh.

Gendo rushed towards him, but the ninja repeatedly dodged Gendo’s onslaught, seemingly with ease. Then ninja extended his hand cautiously toward the still sheathed ‘Hunan Express’ on his back, then thought the better of it. Seeing his underlings in disarray, he instead threw down a small black sphere.

Exploding into a flash of smoke and flame as it hit the ground, the retreat of the ninja was hidden from view. Flames licked the walls of the building. Gendo and the hostess grabbed the ill fortuned patrons of the bar and the dragged them hurriedly out of the bar.

She stood on the sidewalk, across the street.

“Keiko, are you Ok!??”

The bar exploded behind him.

¶

The flickering fire’s light reflecting in her watering eyes, she looked up at him questioningly.

“Who are you? Why did you come here?”

¶

“When World War II started, the United States government slowly realized the incredible resource it had in the nation’s vast network of hobo and rail riders. As a result, it gathered the craftiest men on the lines and trained them for highly convert missions. The nature of the hobo and the great need for secrecy combined to make the networks highly decentralized. About the only authority in the operation was the trust one hobo gains for another after sneaking on a train together. They were deployed across Europe to sneak through the devastated transportation grids and destroy bridges and damns. These hobo became an incredible fighting force, but after the war with the creation of the CIA from the wartime OSS, the military broke off whatever official ties remained. Many hobo left the group at that time and entered civilian life. However, on the fringes of society, the Dead Hobo Society remained, dedicated to the memory of those who’ve taken the Westbound train, and ready to defend the nation from would-be saboteurs, [class skippers], and Communist spies. Soon they met their match in a band of Communist ninjas, and that’s where I come in.

“After I graduated university, I was at a loss. I didn’t know what to do with my life. I had a liberal arts degree, but no real skills. I tried my hand at a few jobs, but they just crushed my spirit with boredom and drudgery. So, I decided to drop out of the system all together. One day after lunch, I stood up from my desk at work, went home, prepared a few things, and left. It was as simple as that. I took what possessions I need and put them into a bindle sack, setting out to make my way alone. It hadn’t been too long riding the rails that I found a few fellow companions on the tracks. They were individuals of extraordinary character. Finally, I had found what I had been missing, or so I thought. Life seemed exciting and vital, and the sense of boredom that haunted me in my previous occupations was gone. I was initiated into the Dead Hobo Society and trained in the turtle-style. I was piled down with weights and told to run. At first, I was completely impaired, but soon I found that I had regained my normal ability. Further, with the weights removed I showed remarkable improvement. By working myself well beyond my ordinary capacity, I found my strength and speed increased exponentially. Soon, with great training by the wizened old hobo sages, I was a master of martial arts.

“And yet, just as my life seemed most complete, I was once more struck by a sense of hollowness and boredom. Somehow, from the jaws of happiness, a great melancholy wrenched away from me all that I thought I understood about life, swallowing me in ennui. As I had trained in the turtle-style, so too, it seemed, had sorrow. Out of my greatest happiness, it just gained greater strength, overturning what once seemed unshakably solid. It appeared that my greater height of joy only anticipated a greater fall. It was in this depressed state that I attended a fateful boot soup council. There, I learned of the destruction of the original Waffle House, and my best friend besides, at the hands of Communist Ninjas. Our best intelligence had the fiend retreating to his hive in Japan following the attack, and Nintendo confirmed renewed assaults on their premises. So, armed with nothing but my own fear of boredom and college level Japanese, I decided to come here.

“So, you asked me why I came to Japan? I’ll tell you. It was boredom, plain and simple.”

¶

Somehow in the smoldering aftermath of the battle, they managed to remember the secondary peril of train shutdown. It was aboard a JR bound for Ôsaka that Gendo had weaved his tales of hobo, ninja, and ennui.

Needless to say, a ninja over-heard the entire thing and got pretty scared/mad.  The ninja didn’t understand the feelings inside him and went berserk (this is common for people).

And so it was that having transfered to the Keihan on the last train for Yodo, the battle would be fought anew.

It would be chaos on the Keihan.

¶

They were alone in the rear car of a semi-express out of Kyôbashi. The ninja was with them on the JR but couldn’t find a way to keep out sight at the transfer. Instead he stole a motorbike and sped through the narrow streets to the mouth where the train emerged from underground. Perched there, he checked his train schedule. On time, the train screamed out of the tunnel as he dropped onto the roof of the train. Crawling silently between the electrical pickups, he reached the rear car and leaned over to force open the door to the conductor’s cabin. Before he could register the ninja’s noiseless motion, the rear conductor was tumbling in the gravel along the side of the tracks. Hurt badly, he was at first too confused to cry out in pain.

Gendo and Keiko sat in an uncomfortable quiet, both trying to process the events of the night. Finally, Keiko inhaled deeply, preparing to speak. She was cut short.

“You hobo sicken me!” called a voice emerging from the back of the train.

“You are children of privilege, fat bourgeois parasites on the glorious proletariat. You know the lot of the poor but serve only your stomachs and your capitalist masters.”

Gendo leapt to his feet.

“You’re one to talk, cutting down pirates for reasons of spite alone!”

“Pirates!? Pirates are godless fools. They don’t believe in the forms. They believe that justice is the advantage of the stronger. But they should first learn that they are the weak, and ninjas are the nemesis of those infected with foolish hubris.”

Gendo’s hand was on the spike in his pocket. His body was set in attack posture. Keiko sat behind him, almost frozen in terror. Hunan Express was firmly sheathed on the ninja’s back. His arms were crossed, his posture straight.

Gathering strength for a moment, Gendo darted toward the wall, jumped onto it, and ran nearly perpendicular to the floor, before bounding to the opposite window and running along it. Gendo’s speed was incredible, and the windows all but shattered as soon as he put a boot to them, but the ninja wasted no time. He reached up to his sword and unfurled it in a 360 degree spin. He cut through parts of the door behind him and met Gendo’s spike just as it was upon him. Gendo was knocked to the floor. The ninja brought his sword down with both hands, but Gendo rolled out of the way. Hurriedly, he snapped backwards and onto his feet.

¶

Do I love her just because she’s beautiful-sad? That can’t be enough. It never can. She has to save herself. I’m helpless. And yet… Andyetandyetandyet…

•the melancholy wrench acted like descartes’ demon.

“What if everything you see is more than what you see - the person next to you is a warrior and the space that appears empty is secret door to another world? What if something appears that shouldn’t? You either dismiss it, or you accept that there is much more to the world than you think. Perhaps it really is doorway, and if you choose to to go inside, you’ll find many unexpected things.”

what if sauce != sñr jackie??

“[By what timing was it that you two chanced to meet? Think of it. A force stronger than coincidence is at work!]”

¶

This is the age of mappo, the Iron Age. Such decay is inevitable. Do not trust even the Keihan line to endure forever. It too will be acted upon by time, eaten up with decay and rust.

This is Kaliyuga, buddy, the Iron Age. Anybody over sixteen without an ulcer’s a goddam spy.

¶

Keiko stepped off the train with trepidation. Ringing in her ears were the words Mr. Miyamoto had spoken to her a few hours before.

“[To find the Caterpillar Girls, you must go to Hirakata Station. Under the station you will find a shop called “Kiddy Land.” Wait outside the shop for three days, then enter. The girls will then find you.]”

She wasn’t sure who the Caterpillar Girls were or why she needed to find them, but she was willing to wait and find out. With an increasing urgency in her step, she continued down the ramp out of the station. Turning the corner she saw the store and proceeded to sit at a bench facing it. If this is what it would take to find Gendo, she would do it.

¶

“I think you’re good. You’re a good person.”

“No, that’s not the issue at all. I like myself. I can’t not. I’m too me not to feel that way. I just don’t have any illusions about my actions. I do terrible things. I hurt people. I cut them out and leave things shattered behind me.

“Rorty says that there’s no utility in trying to use language to represent what is assumed to be ‘out there,’ independent of the observer. However, he is missing the whole root of philosophy. Philosophy is a disease that some people catch when they se their world sink out from beneath their feet. Philosophy is catching the falling floor. Philosophy is holding onto what cannot be held. Probably, Heisenberg is right about the world. There’s no way to view our own lives without changing them. However, when you see love fade, people drift away, and everything you thought you could trust fail— that is when philosophy becomes an act of desperate necessity. All that’s left is to sort through life and find that one thing that will hold up the floor, be it forms or God or self. Maybe it’s foolishness, but it’s not a disease you recover from. You either find something to hold onto or drown. Once you set down the path of philosophy there are no other roads.

“Keiko, I don’t— I can’t— understand my love for you. I can’t say if it will hold together for a day or a lifetime. But I know that at this moment, it feels like the most adamantine thing in my life.

“That’s why I have to ask you to let me go. I have nothing for you. I cannot help you. Perhaps that insistent thing in the back of minds is right. Maybe we really are alone, even in a crowd the size of Ôsaka or in a bed with one’s beloved.”

“If you really love me, why are you pushing me away?”

“I think that’s exactly the problem myself.”

She thought of the meanest thing she could say and said it.

“What’s the point of all this. The only thing we have in common is we’re both in love with you!

“You know, you really are some kind of hobo-astronaut. All you do is drift from place to place, cutting off everyone who ever cares about you. Wagamama na koitsu ya zo! What about me? The one time I thought I found someone I could rely on…”

She was interrupted by her own tears.

“Look, Keiko, I l-like you.” The stutter had already betrayed him.

“Please, don’t cry.”

“You p-pretend to be s-so above it all, but you’re more concerned about what other people think than you are about.”

“Well, if I’m so bad, then why are you wasting your time with me?”

“Because it’s love, you idiot. Don’t you see, I have no choice! Can’t you take some pity on a girl who loves you?”

¶

«So the ninja was right then? I am merely self-interested? I have no connection to others? Maybe so. But this time, there something and it isn’t about me, and it isn’t about you…

«You’ve gotta listen to me Kei-tchan! If we don’t find that ninja hive, it’s the end! Not just for you and me and Keihan line, but for everyone! Free people everywhere!”

«I care about you Keiko. But I know that there are things more important than my life, or even our love.

街をつなぐ、心をむすぶ ~